THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


GIFT  OF 

CLAUDE  B.   HUTCHISON 


THE.    C  O  U  R.T  SHIP    OF 
MIIvE/S     STAJSJDISH 

•<a%? 


THE  COURTSHIP 
OFMILESSTANDISH 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS'MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1858, 
By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Copyright,  1886, 

By  Ernest  W.  Longfellow 

All  rights  reserved 

Copyright,  1883  and  1888, 
By    Houghton,    Mifflin    &    Co. 

Copyright,  1903, 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


This  edition  of  "The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish" 
is  published  by  special  arrangement  with  Messrs. 
Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.,  the  sole  authorized 
publishers  of  Longfellow's  works. 


CONTENTS 


I.     MILES  STANDISH 

II.  LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

III.  THE  LOVER'S  ERRAND 
IV.     JOHN  ALDEN 

V.     THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER 

VI.     PRISCILLA 

VII.     THE  MARCH  OF  MILES  STANDISH 

VIII.     THE  SPINNING  WHEEL 

IX.     THE  WEDDING  DAY 


STRAT" I  ON  S 


Onward  the  bridal  procession  Frontispiece 

To  behold  his  glittering  weapons  Page   1 5 

"Look  at  these  arms,"  he  said  17 

She  was  the  first  to  die 

The  Puritan  maiden  Priscilla  24 

Every  sentence  began  or  closed  with  Priscilla 

Reading  the  marvelous  words  and  achievements  29 

A  wonderful  man  was  Caius  Julius  Caesar 

Now  to  the  grave  of  the  dead  35 

"Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John?" 

Into  the  paths  of  the  forest  43 

Through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  45 

She  sang  the  old  Puritan  anthem  49 

And  gave  him  a  seat  by  the  fireside  53 


STRATA!  ON  S 


And  now  it  never  can  happen  Page  57 

Archly  the  maiden  smiled  60 

Winding  his  sinuous  way  63 

And  wandered  alone  by  the  sea-side  65 

Priscilla  67 

Through  the  congenial  gloom  of  the  forest  7 1 

Buckled  the  belt  round  his  waist  75 

As  he  looked  at  the  heavens  above  him  81 
Figures,  ten,  in  the  mist,  marched  slowly 

The  common  cares  of  the  household  85 

Take  his  musket,  and  so  stride  out  89 

Standing  dejected,  unconscious  of  all  93 
"  How  good  you  have  been  to  me  always" 
Priscilla  was  standing  beside  him 


I  LL.U  STRATA  I  ON  S 


"You  will  forgive  me,  1  hope"  Page  103 

Homeward  together  they  walked  107 

Plunged  it  into  his  heart  113 

Winding  through  forest  and  swamp  115 

"Be  but  a  fighter  of  battles"  117 

With  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  121 

Pressing  her  close  to  his  heart  127 

Worthy  of  being  the  model  of  husbands  129 

Had  built  him  a  new  habitation  131 

The  light  foot  on  the  treadle  grew  swifter  135 

Friends  were  assembled  together  141 

Issued  the  sun,  the  great  High-Priest  143 

A  sombre  and  sorrowful  figure  145 

The  captain,  bowing,  saluted  Priscilla  149 


MILE/S     STA.NDTSH 


IN  the  Old  Colony  days,  in  Plymouth,  the  land  of  the  Pilgrims, 
To  and  fro  in  a  room  of  his  simple  and  primitive  dwelling, 
Clad  in  doublet  and  hose,  and  boots  of  Cordovan  leather, 
Strode,  with  a  martial  air,  Miles  Standish,  the  Puritan  Captain. 
Buried  in  thought  he  seemed,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  pausing- 
Ever  and  anon  to  behold  his  glittering  weapons  of  warfare, 

15 


STAJSJDISH 

Hanging  in  shining  array  along  the  walls  of  the  chamber, — 

Cutlass  and  corselet  of  steel,  and  his  trusty  sword  of  Damascus, 

Curved  at  the  point  and  inscribed  with  its  mystical  Arabic  sentence, 

While  underneath,  in  a  corner,  were  fowling-piece,  musket,  and  matchlock. 

Short  of  stature  he  was,  but  strongly  built  and  athletic, 

Broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep-chested,  with  muscles  and  sinews  of  iron ; 

Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,  but  his  russet  beard  was  already 

Flaked  with  patches  of  snow,  as  hedges  sometimes  in  November. 

Near  him  was  seated  John  Alden,  his  friend  and  household  companion, 

Writing  with  diligent  speed  at  a  table  of  pine  by  the  window ; 

Fair-haired,  azure-eyed,  with  delicate  Saxon  complexion, 

Having  the  dew  of  his  youth,  and  the  beauty  thereof,  as  the  captives 

Whom  Saint  Gregory  saw,  and  exclaimed,  "Not  Angles,  but  Angels." 

Youngest  of  all  was  he  of  the  men  who  came  in  the  Mayflower. 

Suddenly  breaking  the  silence,  the  diligent  scribe  interrupting, 
Spake,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  Miles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth. 
"Look  at  these  arms,"  he  said,  "the  warlike  weapons  that  hang  here 
Burnished  and  bright  and  clean,  as  if  for  parade  or  inspection ! 


16 


STAN  DISH 


This  is  the  sword  of  Damascus  I  fought  with  in  Flanders ;  this  breastplate, 

Well  I  remember  the  day !  once  saved  my  life  in  a  skirmish ; 

Here  in  front  you  can  see  the  very  dint  of  the  bullet 

Fired  point-blank  at  my  heart  by  a  Spanish  arcabucero. 

Had  it  not  been  of  sheer  steel,  the  forgotten  bones  of  Miles  Standish 

Would  at  this  moment  be  mold,  in  their  grave  in  the  Flemish  morasses." 

Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  but  looked  not  up  from  his  writing: 

"Truly  the  breath  of  the  Lord  hath  slackened  the  speed  of  the  bullet ; 
He  in  his  mercy  preserved  you,  to  be  our  shield  and  our  weapon !" 
Still  the  Captain  continued,  unheeding  the  words  of  the  stripling: 

"See,  how  bright  they  are  burnished,  as  if  in  an  arsenal  hanging ; 
That  is  because  I  have  done  it  myself,  and  not  left  it  to  others. 
Serve  yourself,  would  you  be  well  served,  is  an  excellent  adage ; 
So  I  take  care  of  my  arms,  as  you  of  your  pens  and  your  inkhorn. 
Then,  too,  there  are  my  soldiers,  my  great  invincible  arrny, 
Twelve  men,  all  equipped,  having  each  his  rest  and  his  matchlock, 
Eighteen  shillings  a  month,  together  with  diet  and  pillage, 
And,  like  Csesar,  I  know  the  name  of  each  of  my  soldiers !" 
This  he  said  with  a  smile,  that  danced  in  his  eyes,  as  the  sunbeams 

19 


STA.NDISH 

Dance  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  vanish  again  in  a  moment. 
Alden  laughed  as  he  wrote,  and  still  the  Captain  continued : 
"Look !  you  can  see  from  this  window  my  brazen  howitzer  planted 
High  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  a  preacher  who  speaks  to  the  purpose, 
Steady,  straightforward,  and  strong,  with  irresistible  logic, 
Orthodox,  flashing  conviction  right  into  the  hearts  of  the  heathen. 
Now  we  are  ready,  I  think,  for  any  assault  of  the  Indians ; 
Let  them  come,  if  they  like,  and  the  sooner  they  try  it  the  better, — 
Let  them  come,  if  they  like,  be  it  sagamore,  sachem,  or  pow-wow, 
Aspinet,  Samoset,  Corbitant,  Squanto,  or  Tokamahamon !" 

Long  at  the  window  he  stood,  and  wistfully  gazed  on  the  landscape, 
Washed  with  a  cold  gray  mist,  the  vapory  breath  of  the  east  wind, 
Forest  and  meadow  and  hill,  and  the  steel-blue  rim  of  the  ocean, 
Lying  silent  and  sad,  in  the  afternoon  shadows  and  sunshine. 
Over  his  countenance  flitted  a  shadow  like  those  on  the  landscape, 
Gloom  intermingled  with  light ;  and  his  voice  was  subdued  with  emotion, 
Tenderness,  pity,  regret,  as  after  a  pause  he  proceeded : 
"Yonder  there,  on  the  hill  by  the  sea,  lies  buried  Rose  Standish ; 


^••fc  gBUtl  t^!<K 


Beautiful  rose  of  love,  that  bloomed  for  me  by  the  wayside  ! 

s^~~  ~~^~~-^  '•< 

She  was  the  first  to  die  of  all  who  came  in  the  Mayflower  ! 

Green  above  her  is  growing  the  field  of  wheat  we  have  sown  there, 
Better  to  hide  from  the  Indian  scouts  the  graves  of  our  people, 
Lest  they  should  count  them  and  see  how  many  already  have  perished  !" 
Sadly  his  face  he  averted,  and  strode  up  and  down,  and  was  thoughtful. 

Fixed  to  the  opposite  wall  was  a  shelf  of  books,  and  among  them 
Prominent  three,  distinguished  alike  for  bulk  and  for  binding; 
Bariffe's  Artillery  Guide,  and  the  Commentaries  of  Csesar, 
Out  of  the  Latin  translated  by  Arthur  Goldinge  of  London, 
And,  as  if  guarded  by  these,  between  them  was  standing  the  Bible. 
Musing  a  moment  before  them,  Miles  Standish  paused,  as  if  doubtful 
Which  of  the  three  he  should  choose  for  his  consolation  and  comfort, 
Whether  the  wars  of  the  Hebrews,  the  famous  campaigns  of  the  Romans, 
Or  the  Artillery  practice,  designed  for  belligerent  Christians. 
Finally  down  from  its  shelf  he  dragged  the  ponderous  Roman, 
Seated  himself  at  the  window,  and  opened  the  book,  and  in  silence 
Turned  o'er  the  well-worn  leaves,  where  thumb-marks  thick  on  the  margin, 
Like  the  trample  of  feet,  proclaimed  the  battle  was  hottest. 


STA.NDISH 


Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the  stripling, 
Busily  writing  epistles  important,  to  go  by  the  Mayflower, 
Ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow,  or  next  day  at  latest,  God  willing  ! 
Homeward  bound  with  the  tidings  of  all  that  terrible  winter, 
Letters  written  by  Alden,  and  full  of  the  name  of  Priscilla, 
Full  of  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan  maiden  Priscilla! 


\\x 


I 

•  ^-/— iuaulli,  CWIet  C^£;  *'• 

I 

I 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

NOTHING  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the  stripling, 
Or  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  laboring  heart  of  the  Captain, 
Reading  the  marvelous  words  and  achievements  of  Julius  Caesar. 
After  a  while  he  exclaimed,  as  he  smote  with  his  hand,  palm  downward, 
Heavily  on  the  page :  "A  wonderful  man  was  this  Caesar ! 
You  are  a  writer,  and  I  am  a  fighter,  but  here  is  a  fellow 

29 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

Who  could  both  write  and  fight,  and  in  both  was  equally  skilful !" 
Straightway  answered  and  spake  John  Alden,  the  comely,  the  youthful : 

"Yes,  he  was  equally  skilled,  as  you  say,  with  his  pen  and  his  weapons. 
Somewhere  have  I  read,  but  where  I  forget,  he  could  dictate 
Seven  letters  at  once,  at  the  same  time  writing  his  memoirs." 

"Truly,"  continued  the  Captain,  not  heeding  or  hearing  the  other, 

"Truly  a  wonderful  man  was  Caius  Julius  Caesar ! 
Better  be  first,  he  said,  in  a  little  Iberian  village, 
Than  be  second  in  Rome ;  and  I  think  he  was  right  when  he  said  it. 
Twice  was  he  married  before  he  was  twenty,  and  many  times  after ; 
Battles  five  hundred  he  fought,  and  a  thousand  cities  he  conquered ; 
He,  too,  fought  in  Flanders,  as  he  himself  has  recorded ; 
Finally  he  was  stabbed  by  his  friend,  the  orator  Brutus ! 
Now,  do  you  know  what  he  did  on  a  certain  occasion  in  Flanders, 
When  the  rear-guard  of  his  army  retreated,  the  front  giving  way,  too, 
And  the  immortal  Twelfth  Legion  was  crowded  so  closely  together 
There  was  no  room  for  their  swords  ?    Why,  he  seized  a  shield  from  a  soldier, 
Put  himself  straight  at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  commanded  the  captains, 
Calling  on  each  by  his  name,  to  order  forward  the  ensigns ; 


I 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

Then  to  widen  the  ranks,  and  give  more  room  for  their  weapons ; 
So  he  won  the  day,  the  battle  of  something-or-other. 
That's  what  I  always  say:  if  you  wish  a  thing  to  be  well  done, 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it  to  others !" 

All  was  silent  again ;  the  Captain  continued  his  reading. 
Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurrying  pen  of  the  stripling 
Writing  epistles  important  to  go  next  day  by  the  Mayflower, 
Filled  with  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan  maiden  Priscilla ; 
Every  sentence  began  or  closed  with  the  name  of  Priscilla, 
Till  the  treacherous  pen,  to  which  he  confided  the  secret, 
Strove  to  betray  it  by  singing  and  shouting  the  name  of  Priscilla ! 
Finally  closing  his  book,  with  a  bang  of  the  ponderous  cover, 
Sudden  and  loud  as  the  sound  of  a  soldier  grounding  his  musket, 
Thus  to  the  young  man  spake  Miles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth : 
"When  you  have  finished  your  work,  I  have  something  important  to  tell  you. 
Be  not,  however,  in  haste ;  I  can  wait ;  I  shall  not  be  impatient !" 
Straightway  Alden  replied,  as  he  folded  the  last  of  his  letters, 
Pushing  his  papers  aside,  and  giving  respectful  attention : 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

"Speak ;  for  whenever  you  speak,  I  am  always  ready  to  listen, 
Always  ready  to  hear  whatever  pertains  to  Miles  Standish." 
Thereupon  answered  the  Captain,  embarrassed,  and  culling  his  phrases: 

"  'Tis  not  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone,  say  the  Scriptures. 
This  I  have  said  before,  and  again  and  again  I  repeat  it ; 
Every  hour  in  the  day,  I  think  it,  and  feel  it,  and  say  it. 
Since  Rose  Standish  died,  my  life  has  been  weary  and  dreary ; 
Sick  at  heart  have  I  been,  beyond  the  healing  of  friendship. 
Oft  in  my  lonely  hours  have  I  thought  of  the  maiden  Priscilla. 
She  is  alone  in  the  world ;  her  father  and  mother  and  brother 
Died  in  the  winter  together ;  I  saw  her  going  and  coming, 
Now  to  the  grave  of  the  dead,  and  now  to  the  bed  of  the  dying, 
Patient,  courageous,  and  strong,  and  said  to  myself,  that  if  ever 
There  were  angels  on  earth,  as  there  are  angels  in  heaven, 
Two  have  I  seen  and  known ;  and  the  angel  whose  name  is  Priscilla 
Holds  in  my  desolate  life  the  place  which  the  other  abandoned. 
Long  have  I  cherished  the  thought,  but  never  have  dared  to  reveal  it, 
Being  a  coward  in  this,  though  valiant  enough  for  the  most  part. 
Go  to  the  damsel  Priscilla,  the  loveliest  maiden  of  Plymouth, 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

Say  that  a  blunt  old  Captain,  a  man  not  of  words  but  of  actions, 

Offers  his  hand  and  his  heart,  the  hand  and  heart  of  a  soldier. 

Not  in  these  words,  you  know,  but  this  in  short  is  my  meaning ; 

I  am  a  maker  of  war,  and  not  a  maker  of  phrases. 

You,  who  are  bred  as  a  scholar,  can  say  it  in  elegant  language, 

Such  as  you  read  in  your  books  of  the  pleadings  and  wooings  of  lovers, 

Such  as  you  think  best  adapted  to  win  the  heart  of  a  maiden." 

When  he  had  spoken,  John  Alden,  the  fair-haired,  taciturn  stripling, 
All  aghast  at  his  words,  surprised,  embarrassed,  bewildered, 
Trying  to  mask  his  dismay  by  treating  the  subject  with  lightness, 
Trying  to  smile,  and  yet  feeling  his  heart  stand  still  in  his  bosom, 
Just  as  a  time-piece  stops  in  a  house  that  is  stricken  by  lightning, 
Thus  made  answer  and  spake,  or  rather  stammered  than  answered : 
"Such  a  message  as  that,  I  am  sure  I  should  mangle  and  mar  it ; 
If  you  would  have  it  well  done, — I  am  only  repeating  your  maxim, — 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it  to  others !" 
But  with  the  air  of  a  man  whom  nothing  can  turn  from  his  purpose, 
Gravely  shaking  his  head,  made  answer  the  Captain  of  Plymouth : 

~~~~^^  ^-" V  I        r~^r-^ 

w          \ 
37 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP 

'Truly  the  maxim  is  good,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  gainsay  it ; 
But  we  must  use  it  discreetly,  and  not  waste  powder  for  nothing. 
Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  never  a  maker  of  phrases. 
I  can  march  up  to  a  fortress  and  summon  the  place  to  surrender, 
But  march  up  to  a  woman  with  such  a  proposal,  I  dare  not. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  bullets,  nor  shot  from  the  mouth  of  a  cannon, 
But  of  a  thundering  'No !'  point-blank  from  the  mouth  of  a  woman, 
That  I  confess  I'm  afraid  of,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to  confess  it ! 
So  you  must  grant  my  request,  for  you  are  an  elegant  scholar, 
Having  the  graces  of  speech,  and  skill  in  the  turning  of  phrases." 
Taking  the  hand  of  his  friend,  who  still  was  reluctant  and  doubtful, 
Holding  it  long  in  his  own,  and  pressing  it  kindly,  he  added : 
'Though  I  have  spoken  thus  lightly,  yet  deep  is  the  feeling  that  prompts  me ; 
Surely  you  can  not  refuse  what  I  ask  in  the  name  of  our  friendship !" 
Then  made  answer  John  Alden :    "The  name  of  friendship  is  sacred ; 

What  you  demand  in  that  name,  I  have  not  the  power  to  deny  you !" 

^2 
So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  subduing  and  molding  the  gentler, 

tf  V-^-^-J1— \    ^>V~-^-^\/N^  /[  ^*\  ^^~s^r^s^         ,S~\S^^/  ^ 

Friendship  prevailed  over  love,  and  Alden  went  on  his  errand. 


So  THE  strong  will  prevailed,  and  Alden  went  on  his  errand, 
Out  of  the  street  of  the  village,  and  into  the  paths  of  the  forest, 
Into  the  tranquil  woods,  where  bluebirds  and  robins  were  building 
Towns  in  the  populous  trees,  with  hanging  gardens  of  verdure, 
Peaceful,  aerial  cities  of  joy  and  affection  and  freedom. 
All  around  him  was  calm,  but  within  him  commotion  and  conflict, 

43 


THE,  LOVER'S    ERRAND 

Love  contending  with  friendship,  and  self  with  each  generous  impulse. 
To  and  fro  in  his  breast  his  thoughts  were  heaving  and  dashing, 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  with  every  roll  of  the  vessel, 
Washes  the  bitter  sea,  the  merciless  surge  of  the  ocean ! 
"Must  I  relinquish  it  all,"  he  cried  with  a  wild  lamentation, 
"Must  I  relinquish  it  all,  the  joy,  the  hope,  the  illusion? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  loved,  and  waited,  and  worshiped  in  silence? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  followed  the  flying  feet  and  the  shadow 
Over  the  wintry  sea,  to  the  desolate  shores  of  New  England? 
Truly  the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  out  of  its  depths  of  corruption 
Rise,  like  an  exhalation,  the  misty  phantoms  of  passion ; 
Angels  of  light  they  seem,  but  are  only  delusions  of  Satan. 
All  is  clear  to  me  now ;  I  feel  it,  I  see  it  distinctly ! 
This  is  the  hand  of  the  Lord ;  it  is  laid  upon  me  in  anger, 
For  I  have  followed  too  much  the  heart's  desires  and  devices, 
Worshiping  Ashtoreth  blindly,  and  impious  idols  of  Baal. 
This  is  the  cross  I  must  bear ;  the  sin  and  the  swift  retribution." 

44 


&' 


THE,  LOVERS    E/RRAND 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  on  his  errand ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  the  ford,  where  it  brawled  over  pebble  and  shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  May-flowers  blooming  around  him, 
Fragrant,  filling  the  air  with  a  strange  and  wonderful  sweetness, 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with  leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "and  the  type  of  Puritan  maidens, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  the  very  type  of  Priscilla ! 
So  I  will  take  them  to  her ;  to  Priscilla  the  May-flower  of  Plymouth, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting  gift  will  I  take  them ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade  and  wither  and  perish, 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away,  as  is  the  heart  of  the  giver." 
So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden  went  on  his  errand; 
Came  to  an  open  space,  and  saw  the  disk  of  the  ocean, 
Sailless,  somber  and  cold  with  the  comfortless  breath  of  the  east  wind ; 
Saw  the  new-built  house,  and  people  at  work  in  a  meadow ; 
Heard,  as  he  drew  near  the  door,  the  musical  voice  of  Priscilla 
Singing  the  hundredth  Psalm,  the  grand  old  Puritan  anthem, 
Music  that  Luther  sang  to  the  sacred  words  of  the  Psalmist, 
Full  of  the  breath  of  the  Lord,  consoling  and  comforting  many. 

47 


THE,  LOV&PJS    ERRAND 

Then,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  beheld  the  form  of  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool  like  a  snow-drift 
Piled  at  her  knee,  her  white  hands  feeding  the  ravenous  spindle, 
While  with  her  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided  the  wheel  in  its  motion. 
Open  wide  on  her  lap  lay  the  well-worn  psalm-book  of  Ainsworth, 
Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the  music  together, 
Rough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the  wall  of  a  churchyard, 
Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of  the  verses. 
Such  was  the  book  from  whose  pages  she  sang  the  old  Puritan  anthem, 
She,  the  Puritan  girl,  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest, 
Making  the  humble  house  and  the  modest  apparel  of  homespun 
Beautiful  with  her  beauty,  and  rich  with  the  wealth  of  her  being ! 
Over  him  rushed,  like  a  wind  that  is  keen  and  cold  and  relentless, 
Thoughts  of  what  might  have  been,  and  the  weight  and  woe  of  his  errand ; 
All  the  dreams  that  had  faded,  and  all  the  hopes  that  had  vanished, 
All  his  life  henceforth  a  dreary  and  tenantless  mansion, 
Haunted  by  vain  regrets,  and  pallid,  sorrowful  faces. 
Still  he  said  to  himself,  and  almost  fiercely  he  said  it : 
"Let  not  him  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the  plow  look  backward ; 

48 


THE, 

Though  the  plowsnarc  cut  through  the  flowers  of  life  to  its  fountains, 
Though  it  pass  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  and  the  hearths  of  the  living, 
It  is  the  will  of  the  Lord ;  and  His  mercy  endureth  for  ever !" 

So  he  entered  the  house :  and  the  hum  of  the  wheel  and  the  singing 
Suddenly  ceased ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his  step  on  the  threshold, 
Rose  as  he  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in  signal  of  welcome, 
Saying,  "I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard  your  step  in  the  passage ; 
For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  singing  and  spinning." 
Awkward  and  dumb  with  delight,  that  a  thought  of  him  had  been  mingled 

£ 

Thus  in  the  sacred  psalm,  that  came  from  the  heart  of  the  maiden, 
Silent  before  her  he  stood,  and  gave  her  the  flowers  for  an  answer, 
Finding  no  words  for  his  thought.     He  remembered  that  day  in  the  winter, 
After  the  first  great  snow,  when  he  broke  a  path  from  the  village, 
Reeling  and  plunging  along  through  the  drifts  that  encumbered  the  doorway, 
Stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet  as  he  entered  the  house,  and  Priscilla 
Laughed  at  his  snowy  locks,  and  gave  him  a  seat  by  the  fireside, 
Grateful  and  pleased  to  know  he  had  thought  of  her  in  the  snow-storm. 
Had  he  but  spoken  then,  perhaps  not  in  vain  had  he  spoken ; 

51 


THE,  LOVERS 

Now  it  was  all  too  late ;  the  golden  moment  had  vanished ! 

So  he  stood  there  abashed,  and  gave  her  the  flowers  for  an  answer. 

Then  they  sat  down  and  talked  of  the  birds  and  the  beautiful  springtime, 
Talked  of  their  friends  at  home,  and  the  Mayflower  that  sailed  on  the  morrovr. 
"I  have  been  thinking  all  day,"  said  gently  the  Puritan  maiden, 
"Dreaming  all  night,  and  thinking  all  day,  of  the  hedge-rows  of  England, — 
They  are  in  blossom  now,  and  the  country  is  all  like  a  garden ; 
Thinking  of  lanes  and  fields,  and  the  song  of  the  lark  and  the  linnet, 
Seeing  the  village  street,  and  familiar  faces  of  neighbors 
Going  about  as  of  old,  and  stopping  to  gossip  together, 
And,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  village  church,  with  the  ivy 
Climbing  the  old  gray  tower,  and  the  quiet  graves  in  the  churchyard. 
Kind  are  the  people  I  live  with,  and  dear  to  me  my  religion ; 
Still  my  heart  is  so  sad,  that  I  wish  myself  back  in  Old  England. 
You  will  say  it  is  wrong,  but  I  can  not  help  it :   I  almost 
Wish  myself  back  in  Old  England,  I  feel  so  lonely  and  wretched." 

Thereupon  answered  the  youth :  "Indeed  I  do  not  condemn  you ; 
Stouter  hearts  than  a  woman's  have  quailed  in  this  terrible  winter. 

52 


THE,  L,OVE,R!S    ILRRAND 

Yours  is  tender  and  trusting,  and  needs  a  stronger  to  lean  on ; 

So  I  have  come  to  you  now,  with  an  offer  and  proffer  of  marriage 

Made  by  a  good  man  and  true,  Miles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth !"' 

Thus  he  delivered  his  message,  the  dexterous  writer  of  letters, — 
Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in  beautiful  phrases, 
But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it  out  like  a  schoolboy ; 
Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have  said  it  more  bluntly. 
Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla,  the  Puritan  maiden, 
Looked  into  Aldcn's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with  wonder, 

Feeling  his  words  like  a  blow,  that  stunned  her  and  rendered  her  speechless ;, 
Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence : 
"If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me, 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo  me? 
If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not  worth  the  winning !" 
Then  John  Alden  began  explaining  and  smoothing  the  matter, 
Making  it  worse  as  he  went,  by  saying  the  Captain  was  busy, — 
Had  no  time  for  such  things ; — such  things !  the  words  grating  harshly 
Fell  on  the  ear  of  Priscilla ;  and  swift  as  a  flash  she  made  answer : 

55 


THE,   LOVE.RJS    ERRAND 

"Has  he  no  time  for  such  things,  as  you  call  it,  before  he  is  married, 
Would  he  be  likely  to  find  it,  or  make  it,  after  the  wedding? 
That  is  the  way  with  you  men ;  you  don't  understand  us,  you  can  not. 
When  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  after  thinking  of  this  one  and  that  one, 
Choosing,  selecting,  rejecting,  comparing  one  with  another, 
Then  you  make  known  your  desire,  with  abrupt  and  sudden  avowal, 
And  are  offended  and  hurt,  and  indignant  perhaps,  that  a  woman 
Does  not  respond  at  once  to  a  love  that  she  never  suspected, 
Does  not  attain  at  a  bound  the  height  to  which  you  have  been  climbing. 
This  is  not  right  nor  just :  for  surely  a  woman's  affection 
Is  not  a  thing  to  be  asked  for,  and  had  for  only  the  asking. 
When  one  is  truly  in  love,  one  not  only  says  it,  but  shows  it. 
Had  he  but  waited  a  while,  had  he  only  showed  that  he  loved  me, 
Even  this  Captain  of  yours — who  knows? — at  last  might  have  won  me, 
Old  and  rough  as  he  is ;  but  now  it  never  can  happen." 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Priscilla, 
Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  persuading,  expanding; 
Spoke  of  his  courage  and  skill,  and  of  all  his  battles  in  Flanders, 

56 


THE,  DOVE,R:S  ILRRAND 

How  with  the  people  of  God  lie  had  chosen  to  suffer  affliction, 
How,  in  return  for  his  zeal,  they  had  made  him  Captain  of  Plymouth ; 
He  was  a  gentleman  born,  could  trace  his  pedigree  plainly 
Back  to  Hugh  Standish  of  Duxbury  Hall,  in  Lancashire,  England, 
Who  was  the  son  of  Ralph,  and  the  grandson  of  Thurston  de  Standish 
Heir  unto  vast  estates,  of  which  he  was  basely  defrauded, 
Still  bore  the  family  arms,  and  had  for  his  crest  a  cock  argent 
Combed  and  wattled  gules,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  blazon. 
He  was  a  man  of  honor,  of  noble  and  generous  nature ; 
Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;  she  knew  how  during  the  winter 
He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a  hand  as  gentle  as  woman's ; 
Somewhat  hasty  and  hot,  he  could  not  deny  it,  and  headstrong, 
Stern  as  a  soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and  placable  always, 
Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned,  because  he  was  little  of  stature ; 
For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  courtly,  courageous ; 
Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman  in  England, 
Might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called  the  wife  of  Miles  Standish ! 

59 


THE, 


EyRRAND 


But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloquent  language, 
Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival, 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with  laughter, 
Said  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John?'* 


JOHN 

INTO  the  open  air  John  Alden,  perplexed  and  bewildered, 
Rushed  like  a  man  insane,  and  wandered  alone  by  the  sea-side ; 
Paced  up  and  down  the  sands,  and  bared  his  head  to  the  cast  wind, 
Cooling  his  heated  brow,  and  the  fire  and  fever  within  him. 
Slowly  as  out  of  the  heavens,  with  apocalyptical  splendors, 
Sank  the  City  of  God,  in  the  vision  of  John  the  Apostle, 
So,  with  its  cloudy  walls  of  chrysolite,  jasper,  and  sapphire, 
Sank  the  broad  red  sun,  and  over  its  turrets  uplifted 
Glimmered  the  golden  reed  of  the  angel  who  measured  the  city. 

65 


JOHN 

"Welcome,  O  wind  of  the  East !"  he  exclaimed  in  his  wild  exultation, 

"Welcome,  O  wind  of  the  East,  from  the  caves  of  the  misty  Atlantic ! 
Blowing  o'er  fields  of  dulse,  and  measureless  meadows  of  sea-grass, 
Blowing  o'er  rocky  wastes,  and  the  grottos  and  gardens  of  ocean ! 
Lay  thy  cold,  moist  hand  on  my  burning  forehead,  and  wrap  me 
Close  in  thy  garments  of  mist,  to  allay  the  fever  within  me !" 

Like  an  awakened  conscience,  the  sea  was  moaning  and  tossing, 
Beating  remorseful  and  loud  the  mutable  sands  of  the  sea-shore. 
Fierce  in  his  soul  was  the  struggle  and  tumult  of  passions  contending ; 
Love  triumphant  and  crowned,  and  friendship  wounded  and  bleeding, 
Passionate  cries  of  desire,  and  importunate  pleadings  of  duty ! 

"Is  it  my  fault,"  he  said,  "that  the  maiden  has  chosen  between  us? 
Is  it  my  fault  that  he  failed, — my  fault  that  I  am  the  victor?" 
Then  within  him  there  thundered  a  voice,  like  the  voice  of  the  Prophet : 

"It  hath  displeased  the  Lord !" — and  he  thought  of  David's  transgression, 
Bathsheba's  beautiful  face,  and  his  friend  in  the  front  of  the  battle ! 
Shame  and  confusion  of  guilt,  and  abasement  and  self-condemnation, 
Overwhelmed  him  at  once ;  and  he  cried  in  the  deepest  contrition : 

"It  hath  displeased  the  Lord  !    It  is  the  temptation  of  Satan !" 

66 


JOHN 

Then  uplifting  his  head,  he  looked  at  the  sea,  and  beheld  there 
Dimly  the  shadowy  form  of  the  Mayflower  riding  at  anchor, 
Rocked  on  the  rising  tide,  and  ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow ; 
Heard  the  voices  of  men  through  the  mist,  the  rattle  of  cordage 
Thrown  on  the  deck,  the  shouts  of  the  mate,  and  the  sailors'  "Aye,  aye,  sir !" 
Clear  and  distinct,  but  not  loud,  in  the  dripping  air  of  the  twilight. 
Still  for  a  moment  he  stood,  and  listened,  and  stared  at  the  vessel, 
Then  went  hurriedly  on,  as  one  who,  seeing  a  phantom, 
Stops,  then  quickens  his  pace,  and  follows  the  beckoning  shadow. 
"Yes,  it  is  plain  to  me  now,"  he  murmured ;  "the  hand  of  the  Lord  is 
Leading  me  out  of  the  land  of  darkness,  the  bondage  of  error, 
Through  the  sea,  that  shall  lift  the  walls  of  its  waters  around  me, 
Hiding  me,  cutting  me  off,  from  the  cruel  thoughts  that  pursue  me. 
Back  will  I  go  o'er  the  ocean,  this  dreary  land  will  abandon, 
Her  whom  I  may  not  love,  and  him  whom  my  heart  has  offended. 
Better  to  be  in  my  grave  in  the  green  old  churchyard  in  England, 
Close  by  my  mother's  side,  and  among  the  dust  of  my  kindred ; 
Better  be  dead  and  forgotten,  than  living  in  shame  and  dishonor ! 
Sacred  and  safe  and  unseen,  in  the  dark  of  the  narrow  chamber 
With  me  my  secret  shall  lie,  like  a  buried  jewel  that  glimmers 

69 


JOHN       ALDE.N 

Bright  on  the  hand  that  is  dust,  in  the  chambers  of  silence  and  darkncss,- 
Yes,  as  the  marriage  ring  of  the  great  espousal  hereafter !" 

Thus  as  he  spake,  he  turned,  in  the  strength  of  his  strong  resolution, 
Leaving  behind  him  the  shore,  and  hurried  along  in  the  twilight, 
Through  the  congenial  gloom  of  the  forest  silent  and  somber, 
Till  he  beheld  the  lights  in  the  seven  houses  of  Plymouth, 
Shining  like  seven  stars  in  the  dusk  and  mist  of  the  evening. 
Soon  he  entered  his  door,  and  found  the  redoubtable  Captain 
Sitting  alone,  and  absorbed  in  the  martial  pages  of  Caesar, 
Fighting  some  great  campaign  in  Hainaut  or  Brabant  or  Flanders. 

"Long  have  you  been  on  your  errand,"  he  said  with  a  cheery  demeanor, 
Even  as  one  who  is  waiting  an  answer,  and  fears  not  the  issue. 

"Not  far  off  is  the  house,  although  the  woods  are  between  us ; 
But  you  have  lingered  so  long,  that  while  you  were  going  and  coming 
I  have  fought  ten  battles  and  sacked  and  demolished  a  city. 
Come,  sit  down,  and  in  order  relate  to  me  all  that  has  happened." 

Then  John  Alden  spake,  and  related  the  wondrous  adventure, 
From  beginning  to  end,  minutely,  just  as  it  happened; 

70 


JOHN 

How  he  had  seen  Priscilla,  and  how  he  had  sped  in  his  courtship, 

Only  smoothing  a  little,  and  softening  down  her  refusal. 

But  when  he  came  at  length  to  the  words  Priscilla  had  spoken, 

Words  so  tender  and  cruel :     "Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John  ?" 

Up  leaped  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  stamped  on  the  floor,  till  his  armor 

Clanged  on  the  wall,  where  it  hung,  with  a  sound  of  sinister  omen. 

All  his  pent-up  wrath  burst  forth  in  a  sudden  explosion, 

Even  as  a  hand-grenade,  that  scatters  destruction  around  it. 

Wildly  he  shouted,  and  loud :     "John  Alden  !  you  have  betrayed  me ! 

Me,  Miles  Standish,  your  friend !  have  supplanted,  defrauded,  betra}-cd  me ! 

One  of  my  ancestors  ran  his  sword  through  the  heart  of  Wat  Tyler ; 

Who  shall  prevent  me  from  running  my  own  through  the  heart  of  a  traitor? 

Yours  is  the  greater  treason,  for  yours  is  a  treason  to  friendship  ! 

You,  who  lived  under  my  roof,  whom  I  cherished  and  loved  as  a  brother ; 

You,  who  have  fed  at  my  board,  and  drunk  at  my  cup,  to  whose  keeping 

I  have  intrusted  my  honor,  my  thoughts  the  most  sacred  and  secret, — 

You,  too,  Brutus !  ah,  woe  to  the  name  of  friendship  hereafter ! 

Brutus  was  Csesar's  friend,  and  you  were  mine,  but  henceforward 

Let  there  be  nothing  between  us  save  war,  and  implacable  hatred !" 


73 


JOHN 

So  spake  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  as  he  strode  about  in  the  chamber, 
•Chafing  and  choking  with  rage ;  like  cords  were  the  veins  on  his  temples. 
But  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  a  man  appeared  at  the  doorway, 
Bringing  in  uttermost  haste  a  message  of  urgent  importance, 
Rumors  of  danger  and  war  and  hostile  incursions  of  Indians ! 
Straightway  the  Captain  paused,  and,  without  further  question  or  parley, 
Took  from  the  nail  on  the  wall  his  sword  with  its  scabbard  of  iron, 
Buckled  the  belt  round  his  waist,  and,  frowning  fiercely,  departed. 
Alden  was  left  alone.    He  heard  the  clank  of  the  scabbard 
•Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  dying  away  in  the  distance. 
Then  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  looked  forth  into  the  darkness, 
Pelt  the  cool  air  blow  on  his  cheek,  that  was  hot  with  the  insult, 
Lifted  his  eyes  to  the  heavens,  and,  folding  his  hands  as  in  childhood, 
Prayed  in  the  silence  of  night  to  the  Father  who  seeth  in  secret. 

Meanwhile  the  choleric  Captain  strode  wrathful  away  to  the  council, 
Found  it  already  assembled,  impatiently  waiting  his  coming; 
Men  in  the  middle  of  life,  austere  and  grave  in  deportment, 
Only  one  of  them  old,  the  hill  that  was  nearest  to  heaven, 
Covered  with  snow,  but  erect,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth. 

74 


<JOHN 

God  had  sifted  three  kingdoms  to  find  the  wheat  for  this  planting, 
Then  had  sifted  the  wheat,  as  the  living  seed  of  a  nation ; 
So  say  the  chronicles  old,  and  such  is  the  faith  of  the  people ! 
Near  them  was  standing  an  Indian,  in  attitude  stern  and  defiant, 
Naked  down  to  the  waist,  and  grim  and  ferocious  in  aspect ; 
While  on  the  table  before  them  was  lying  unopened  a  Bible, 
Ponderous,  bound  in  leather,  brass-studded,  printed  in  Holland, 
And  beside  it  outstretched  the  skin  of  a  rattlesnake  glittered, 
Filled,  like  a  quiver,  with  arrows ;  a  signal  and  challenge  of  warfare, 
Brought  by  the  Indian,  and  speaking  with  arrowy  tongues  of  defiance. 
This  Miles  Standish  beheld,  as  he  entered,  and  heard  them  debating 
What  were  an  answer  befitting  the  hostile  message  and  menace, 
Talking  of  this  and  of  that,  contriving,  suggesting,  objecting; 
One  voice  only  for  peace,  and  that  the  voice  of  the  Elder, 
Judging  it  wise  and  well  that  some  at  least  were  converted, 
Rather  than  any  were  slain,  for  this  was  but  Christian  behavior! 
Then  outspake  Miles  Standish,  the  stalwart  Captain  of  Plymouth* 
Muttering  deep  in  his  throat,  for  his  voice  was  husky  with  anger : 
*'What !  do  you  mean  to  make  war  with  milk  and  the  water  of  roses? 
Is  it  to  shoot  red  squirrels  you  have  your  howitzer  planted 

77 


JOHN       A.LDRN 

There  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  or  is  it  to  shoot  red  devils? 
Truly  the  only  tongue  that  is  understood  by  a  savage 
Must  be  the  tongue  of  fire  that  speaks  from  the  mouth  of  the  cannon  !*" 
Thereupon  answered  and  said  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth, 
Somewhat  amazed  and  alarmed  at  this  irreverent  language: 
'Not  so  thought  Saint  Paul,  nor  yet  the  other  Apostles ; 
Not  from  the  cannon's  mouth  were  the  tongues  of  fire  they  spake  with  !'* 
But  unheeded  fell  this  mild  rebuke  on  the  Captain, 
Who  had  advanced  to  the  table,  and  thus  continued  discoursing : 
'Leave  this  matter  to  me,  for  to  me  by  right  it  pertaineth. 
War  is  a  terrible  trade ;  but  in  the  cause  that  is  righteous, 
Sweet  is  the  smell  of  powder ;  and  thus  I  answer  the  challenge !" 

Then  from  the  rattlesnake's  skin,  with  a  sudden,  contemptuous  gesture,. 
Jerking  the  Indian  arrows,  he  filled  it  with  powder  and  bullets 
Full  to  the  very  jaws,  and  handed  it  back  to  the  savage, 
Saying,  in  thundering  tones :    "Here,  take  it !  this  is  your  answer !" 
Silently  out  of  the  room  then  glided  the  glistening  savage, 
Bearing  the  serpent's  skin,  and  seeming  himself  like  a  serpent, 
Winding  his  sinuous  way  in  the  dark  to  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

78 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 
MAYFLOWER 


1*04  l 

. 
>«•  «  •  f  ••.-.?        ;.:  j  L- 


r 


THE,  SAILING   OP  THE 


JUST  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  the  mists  uprose  from  the  meadows, 
There  was  a  stir  and  a  sound  in  the  slumbering  village  of  Plymouth  ; 
Clanging  and  clicking  of  arms,  and  the  order  imperative,  "Forward  !" 
Given  in  tone  suppressed,  a  tramp  of  feet,  and  then  silence. 
Figures  ten,  in  the  mist,  marched  slowly  out  of  the  village. 
Standish  the  stalwart  it  was,  with  eight  of  his  valorous  army, 
Led  by  their  Indian  guide,  by  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white  men, 
Northward  marching  to  quell  the  sudden  revolt  of  the  savage. 

83 


THE,  SAILING   OP  THE 
MAYFLOWER 

Giants  they  seemed  in  the  mist,  or  the  mighty  men  of  King  David ; 
Giants  in  heart  they  were,  who  believed  in  God  and  the  Bible, — 
Aye,  who  believed  in  the  smiting  of  Midianites  and  Philistines. 
Over  them  gleamed  far  off  the  crimson  banners  of  morning ; 
Under  them  loud  on  the  sands,  the  serried  billows,  advancing, 
Fired  along  the  line  and  in  regular  order  retreated. 

Many  a  mile  had  they  marched,  when  at  length  the  village  of  Plymouth 
Woke  from  its  sleep,  and  arose,  intent  on  its  manifold  labors. 
Sweet  was  the  air  and  soft ;  and  slowly  the  smoke  from  the  chimneys 
Rose  over  roofs  of  thatch,  and  pointed  steadily  eastward ; 
Men  came  forth  from  the  doors,  and  paused  and  talked  of  the  weather, 
Said  that  the  wind  had  changed,  and  was  blowing  fair  for  the  Mayflower  ; 
Talked  of  their  Captain's  departure,  and  all  the  dangers  that  menaced, 
He  being  gone,  the  town,  and  what  should  be  done  in  his  absence. 
Merrily  sang  the  birds,  and  the  tender  voices  of  women 
Consecrated  with  hymns  the  common  cares  of  the  household. 
Out  of  the  sea  rose  the  sun,  and  the  billows  rejoiced  at  his  coming; 
Beautiful  were  his  feet  on  the  purple  tops  of  the  mountains; 
Beautiful  on  the  sails  of  the  Mayflower  riding  at  anchor, 

84, 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 
MAYFLOWER 

Battered  and  blackened  and  worn  by  all  the  storms  of  the  winter. 
Loosely  against  her  masts  was  hanging  and  flapping  her  canvas, 
Rent  by  so  many  gales,  and  patched  by  the  hands  of  the  sailors. 
Suddenly  from  her  side,  as  the  sun  rose  over  the  ocean, 
Darted  a  puff  of  smoke,  and  floated  seaward ;  anon  rang 
Loud  over  field  and  forest  the  cannon's  roar,  and  the  echoes 
Heard  and  repeated  the  sound,  the  signal-gun  of  departure ! 
Ah !  but  with  louder  echoes  replied  the  hearts  of  the  people ! 
Meekly,  in  voices  subdued,  the  chapter  was  read  from  the  Bible, 
Meekly  the  prayer  was  begun,  but  ended  in  fervent  entreaty ! 
Then  from  their  houses  in  haste  came  forth  the  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth, 
Men  and  women  and  children,  all  hurrying  down  to  the  sea-shore, 
Eager,  with  tearful  eyes,  to  say  farewell  to  the  Mayflower, 
Homeward  bound  o'er  the  sea  and  leaving  them  here  in  the  desert. 

Foremost  among  them  was  Alden.    All  night  he  had  lain  without  slumber, 
Turning  and  tossing  about  in  the  heat  and  unrest  of  his  fever. 
He  had  beheld  Miles  Standish,  who  came  back  late  from  the  council, 
Stalking  into  the  room,  and  heard  him  mutter  and  murmur, 
Sometimes  it  seemed  a  prayer,  and  sometimes  it  sounded  like  swearing. 
(^  87 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 
MAY  FLOWER 

Once  he  had  come  to  the  bed,  and  stood  there  a  moment  in  silence ; 
Then  he  had  turned  away,  and  said :   "I  will  not  awake  him ; 
Let  him  sleep  on,  it  is  best ;  for  what  is  the  use  of  more  talking !" 
Then  he  extinguished  the  light,  and  threw  himself  down  on  his  pallet, 
Dressed  as  he  was,  and  ready  to  start  at  the  break  of  the  morning, — 
Covered  himself  with  the  cloak  he  had  worn  in  his  campaigns  in  Flanders,- 
Slept  as  a  soldier  sleeps  in  his  bivouac,  ready  for  action. 
But  with  the  dawn  he  arose ;  in  the  twilight  Alden  beheld  him 
Put  on  his  corselet  of  steel,  and  all  the  rest  of  his  armor, 
Buckle  about  his  waist  his  trusty  blade  of  Damascus, 
Take  from  the  corner  his  musket,  and  so  stride  out  of  the  chamber. 
Often  the  heart  of  the  youth  had  burned  and  yearned  to  embrace  him, 
Often  his  lips  had  essayed  to  speak,  imploring  for  pardon ; 
All  the  old  friendship  came  back,  with  its  tender  and  grateful  emotions; 
But  his  pride  overmastered  the  nobler  nature  within  him, — 
Pride,  and  the  sense  of  his  wrong,  and  the  burning  fire  of  the  insult. 
So  he  beheld  his  friend  departing  in  anger,  but  spake  not, 
Saw  him  go  forth  to  danger,  perhaps  to  death,  and  he  spake  not ! 
Then  he  arose  from  his  bed,  and  heard  what  the  people  were  saying, 
Joined  in  the  talk  at  the  door,  with  Stephen  and  Richard  and  Gilbert, 

88 


• 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 


Joined  in  the  morning  prayer,  and  in  the  reading  of  Scripture, 
And,  with  the  others,  in  haste  went  hurrying  down  to  the  sea-shore, 
Down  to  the  Plymouth  Rock,  that  had  been  to  their  feet  as  a  door-step 
Into  a  world  unknown,  —  -the  corner-stone  of  a  nation  ! 

There  with  his  boat  was  the  Master,  already  a  little  impatient 
Lest  he  should  lose  the  tide,  or  the  wind  might  shift  to  the  eastward, 
Square-built,  hearty,  and  strong,  with  an  odor  of  ocean  about  him, 
Speaking  with  this  one  and  that,  and  cramming  letters  and  parcels 
Into  his  pockets  capacious,  and  messages  mingled  together 
Into  his  narrow  brain,  till  at  last  he  was  wholly  bewildered. 
Nearer  the  boat  stood  Alden,  with  one  foot  placed  on  the  gunwale, 
One  still  firm  on  the  rock,  and  talking  at  times  with  the  sailors, 
Seated  erect  on  the  thwarts,  all  ready  and  eager  for  starting. 
He,  too,  was  eager  to  go,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  his  anguish, 
Thinking  to  fly  from  despair,  that  swifter  than  keel  is  or  canvas, 
Thinking  to  drown  in  the  sea  the  ghost  that  would  rise  and  pursue  him. 
But  as  he  gazed  on  the  crowd,  he  beheld  the  form  of  Priscilla 
Standing  dejected  among  them,  unconscious  of  all  that  was  passing. 
Fixed  were  her  eyes  upon  his,  as  if  she  divined  his  intention, 
Fixed  with  a  look  so  sad,  so  reproachful,  imploring  and  patient, 

91 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 
MA.YFLOWRR 

That  with  a  sudden  revulsion  his  heart  recoiled  from  its  purpose, 
As  from  the  verge  of  a  crag,  where  one  step  more  is  destruction. 
Strange  is  the  heart  of  man,  with  its  quick,  mysterious  instincts ! 
Strange  is  the  life  of  man,  and  fatal  or  fated  are  moments, 
Whereupon  turn,  as  on  hinges,  the  gates  of  the  wall  adamantine ! 

"Here  I  remain !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  looked  at  the  heavens  above  him, 
Thanking  the  Lord  whose  breath  had  scattered  the  mist  and  the  madness9 
Wherein,  blind  and  lost,  to  death  he  was  staggering  headlong. 

"Yonder  snow-white  cloud,  that  floats  in  the  ether  above  me, 
Seems  like  a  hand  that  is  pointing  and  beckoning  over  the  ocean. 
There  is  another  hand,  that  is  not  so  spectral  and  ghost-like, 
Holding  me,  drawing  me  back,  and  clasping  mine  for  protection. 
Float,  O  hand  of  cloud,  and  vanish  away  in  the  ether! 
Roll  thyself  up  like  a  fist,  to  threaten  and  daunt  me ;  I  heed  not 
Either  your  warning  or  menace,  or  any  omen  of  evil ! 
There  is  no  land  so  sacred,  no  air  so  pure  and  so  wholesome, 
As  is  the  air  she  breathes,  and  the  soil  that  is  pressed  by  her  footsteps, 
Here  for  her  sake  will  I  stay,  and  like  an  invisible  presence 
Hover  around  her  for  ever,  protecting,  supporting  her  weakness ; 
Yes !  as  my  foot  was  the  first  that  stepped  on  this  rock  at  the  landing, 
So,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  shall  it  be  the  last  at  the  leaving!" 

92 


THE,  SAILING  OP  THE 
MAYFLOWE/R 

Meanwhile  the  Master  alert,  but  with  dignified  air  and  important, 
Scanning  with  watchful  eye  the  tide  and  the  wind  and  the  weather, 
Walked  about  on  the  sands ;  and  the  people  crowded  around  him 
Saying  a  few  last  words,  and  enforcing  his  careful  remembrance. 
Then,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  as  if  he  were  grasping  a  tiller, 
Into  the  boat  he  sprang,  and  in  haste  shoved  off  to  his  vessel, 
Glad  in  his  heart  to  get  rid  of  all  this  worry  and  flurry, 
Glad  to  be  gone  from  a  land  of  sand  and  sickness  and  sorrow, 
Short  allowance  of  victual,  and  plenty  of  nothing  but  Gospel ! 
Lost  in  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  last  farewell  of  the  Pilgrims. 
O  strong  hearts  and  true !  not  one  went  back  in  the  Mayflower ! 
No,  not  one  looked  back,  who  had  set  his  hand  to  this  plowing ! 

Soon  were  heard  on  board  the  shouts  and  songs  of  the  sailors 
Heaving  the  windlass  round,  and  hoisting  the  ponderous  anchor. 
Then  the  yards  were  braced,  and  all  sails  set  to  the  west  wind, 
Blowing  steady  and  strong ;  and  the  Mayflower  sailed  from  the  harbor, 
Rounded  the  point  of  the  Gurnet,  and  leaving  far  to  the  southward 
Island  and  cape  of  sand,  and  the  Field  of  the  First  Encounter, 
Took  the  wind  on  her  quarter,  and  stood  for  the  open  Atlantic, 
Borne  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  and  the  swelling  hearts  of  the  Pilgrims. 

95 


THE,  SAILING  OF  THE 
MAY  FLOWER 

Long  in  silence  they  watched  the  receding  sail  of  the  vessel, 
Much  endeared  to  them  all,  as  something  living  and  human ; 
Then,  as  if  filled  with  the  spirit,  and  rapt  in  a  vision  prophetic, 
Baring  his  hoary  head,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth 

Said,  "Let  us  pray !"  and  they  prayed,  and  thanked  the  Lord  and  took  courage. 
Mournfully  sobbed  the  waves  at  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  above  them 
Bowed  and  whispered  the  wheat  on  the  hill  of  death,  and  their  kindred 
Seemed  to  awake  in  their  graves,  and  to  join  in  the  prayer  that  they  uttered. 
Sun-illumined  and  white,  on  the  eastern  verge  of  the  ocean 
Gleamed  the  departing  sail,  like  a  marble  slab  in  a  graveyard ; 
Buried  beneath  it  lay  for  ever  all  hope  of  escaping. 
Lo !  as  they  turned  to  depart,  they  saw  the  form  of  an  Indian, 
Watching  them  from  the  hill ;  but  while  they  spake  with  each  other, 
Pointing  with  outstretched  hands,  and  saying,  "Look !"  he  had  vanished. 
So  they  returned  to  their  homes ;    but  Alden  lingered  a  little, 
Musing  alone  on  the  shore,  and  watching  the  wash  of  the  billows 
Round  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  the  sparkle  and  flash  of  the  sunshine, 
Like  the  spirit  of  God,  moving  visibly  over  the  waters. 

96 


P  RI  S  C  ]  I>LyA 


P  RI  S  C  I 


THUS  for  a  while  he  stood,  and  mused  by  the  shore  of  the  ocean 

Thinking  of  many  things,  and  most  of  all  of  Priscilla  ; 

And  as  if  thought  had  the  power  to  draw  to  itself,  like  the  lodestone, 

Whatsoever  it  touches,  by  subtile  laws  of  its  nature, 

.'  \ 

Lo  !  as  he  turned  to  depart,  Priscilla  was  standing  beside  him. 

101 


P  RI  S  C  I 

"Are  you  so  much  offended,  you  will  not  speak  to  me?"  said  she. 
"Am  I  so  much  to  blame,  that  yesterday,  when  you  were  pleading 
Warmly  the  cause  of  another,  my  heart,  impulsive  and  wayward, 
Pleaded  your  own,  and  spake  out,  forgetful  perhaps  of  decorum? 
Certainly  you  can  forgive  me  for  speaking  so  frankly,  for  saying 
What  I  ought  not  to  have  said,  yet  now  I  can  never  unsay  it ; 
For  there  are  moments  in  life,  when  the  heart  is  so  full  of  emotion, 
That  if  by  chance  it  be  shaken,  or  into  its  depths  like  a  pebble 
Drops  some  careless  word,  it  overflows,  and  its  secret, 
Spilt  on  the  ground  like  water,  can  never  be  gathered  together. 
Yesterday  I  was  shocked,  when  I  heard  you  speak  of  Miles  Standish, 
Praising  his  virtues,  transforming  his  very  defects  into  virtues, 
Praising  his  courage  and  strength,  and  even  his  fighting  in  Flanders, 
As  if  by  fighting  alone  you  could  win  the  heart  of  a  woman, 
Quite  overlooking  yourself  and  the  rest,  in  exalting  your  hero. 
Therefore  I  spake  as  I  did,  by  an  irresistible  impulse. 
You  will  forgive  me,  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  the  friendship  between  us, 
Which  is  too  true  and  too  sacred  to  be  so  easily  broken  !" 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  scholar,  the  friend  of  Miles  Standish : 


P  R.I  S  C  I 


"I  was  not  angry  with  you,  with  myself  alone  I  was  angry, 
Seeing  how  badly  I  managed  the  matter  I  had  in  my  keeping." 

"No  !"  interrupted  the  maiden,  with  answer  prompt  and  decisive  ; 

"No;  you  were  angry  with  me  for  speaking  so  frankly  and  freely. 
It  was  wrong,  I  acknowledge  ;  for  it  is  the  fate  of  a  woman 
Long  to  be  patient  and  silent,  to  wait  like  a  ghost  that  is  speechless, 
Till  some  questioning  voice  dissolves  the  spell  of  its  silence. 
Hence  is  the  inner  life  of  so  many  suffering  women 
Sunless  and  silent  and  deep,  like  subterranean  rivers 
Running  through  caverns  of  darkness,  unheard,  unseen,  and  unfruitful, 
Chafing  their  channels  of  stone,  with  endless  and  profitless  murmurs." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  young  man,  the  lover  of  women  : 

"Heaven  forbid  it,  Priscilla  ;  and  truly  they  seem  to  me  always 
More  like  the  beautiful  rivers  that  watered  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
More  like  the  river  Euphrates,  through  deserts  of  Havilah  flowing, 
Filling  the  land  with  delight,  and  memories  sweet  of  the  garden  !" 

"Ah,  by  these  words,  I  can  see,"  again  interrupted  the  maiden, 

"How  very  little  you  prize  me,  or  care  for  what  I  am  saying. 
When  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  in  pain  and  with  secret  misgiving, 

105 

"S—  - 


P  RI  S  C  I 


Frankly  I  speak  to  you,  asking  for  sympathy  only  and  kindness, 
Straightway  you  take  up  my  words,  that  arc  plain  and  direct  and  in  earnests 
Turn  them  away  from  their  meaning,  and  answer  with  flattering  phrases. 
This  is  not  right,  is  not  just,  is  not  true  to  the  best  that  is  in  you  ; 
For  I  know  and  esteem  you,  and  feel  that  your  nature  is  noble, 

^^"v  Y  9*^        / 

Lifting  mine  up  to  a  higher,  a  more  ethereal  level. 

Therefore  I  value  your  friendship,  and  feel  it  perhaps  the  more  keenly 

If  you  say  aught  that  implies  I  am  only  as  one  among  many, 

If  you  make  use  of  those  common  and  complimentary  phrases 

Most  men  think  so  fine,  in  dealing  and  speaking  with  women, 

But  which  women  reject  as  insipid,  if  not  as  insulting." 

(f«v  N   >. 

Mute  and  amazed  was  Aldcn ;  and  listened  and  looked  at  Priscilla, 

\\    V".      -jf!/     /  /  i    '  V  I  ^x\.     //      /// \\       n 
Thinking  he  never  had  seen  her  more  fair,  more  divine  in  her  beauty. 

He  who  but  yesterday  pleaded  so  glibly  the  cause  of  another, 

Stood  there  embarrassed  and  silent,  and  seeking  in  vain  for  an  answer. 

So  the  maiden  went  on,  and  little  divined  or  imagined 

I/  \  s~-^^-^) 

What  was  at  work  in  his  heart,  that  made  him  so  awkward  and  speechless. 
"Let  us,  then,  be  what  we  are,  and  speak  what  we  think,  and  in  all  things 

106 


PR.IS  C  I  I 

Keep  ourselves  loyal  to  truth,  and  the  sacred  professions  of  friendship. 
It  is  no  secret  I  tell  you,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to  declare  it : 
I  have  liked  to  be  with  you,  to  see  you,  to  speak  with  you  always. 
So  I  was  hurt  at  your  words,  and  a  little  affronted  to  hear  you 
Urge  me  to  marry  your  friend,  though  he  were  the  Captain  Miles  Standish. 
For  I  must  tell  you  the  truth :  much  more  to  me  is  your  friendship 
Than  all  the  love  he  could  give,  were  he  twice  the  hero  you  think  him." 
Then  she  extended  her  hand,  and  Alden,  who  eagerly  grasped  it, 
Felt  all  the  wounds  in  his  heart,  that  were  aching  and  bleeding  so  sorely, 
Healed  by  the  touch  of  that  hand,  and  he  said,  with  a  voice  full  of  feeling : 
"Yes,  we  must  ever  be  friends ;  and  of  all  who  offer  you  friendship 
Let  me  be  ever  the  first,  the  truest,  the  nearest  and  dearest !" 

Casting  a  farewell  look  at  the  glimmering  sail  of  the  Mayflower, 
Distant,  but  still  in  sight,  and  sinking  below  the  horizon, 
Homeward  together  they  walked,  with  a  strange,  indefinite  feeling, 
That  all  the  rest  had  departed  and  left  them  alone  in  the  desert. 
But,  as  they  went  through  the  fields  in  the  blessing  and  smile  of  the  sunshine, 
Lighter  grew  their  hearts,  and  Priscilla  said  very  archly : 

109 


P  RI  S  C  I 


"Now  that  our  terrible  Captain  has  gone  in  pursuit  of  the  Indians, 
Where  he  is  happier  far  than  he  would  be  commanding  a  household, 
You  may  speak  boldly,  and  tell  me  of  all  that  happened  between  you, 
When  you  returned  last  night,  and  said  how  ungrateful  you  found  me." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  and  told  her  the  whole  of  the  story, — 
Told  her  his  own  despair,  and  the  direful  wrath  of  Miles  Standish. 
Whereat  the  maiden  smiled,  and  said  between  laughing  and  earnest, 

"He  is  a  little  chimney,  and  heated  hot  in  a  moment !" 
But  as  he  gently  rebuked  her,  and  told  her  how  much  he  had  suffered, — 
How  he  had  even  determined  to  sail  that  day  in  the  Mayflower, 
And  had  remained  for  her  sake,  on  hearing  the  dangers  that  threatened, — 
All  her  manner  was  changed,  and  she  said  with  a  faltering  accent, 

"Truly  I  thank  you  for  this :  how  good  you  have  been  to  me  always !" 

t 

j.i^'jV  \^    v^yjHtM* 

Thus,  as  a  pilgrim  devout,  who  toward  Jerusalem  journeys, 
Taking  three  steps  in  advance,  and  one  reluctantly  backward, 
Urged  by  importunate  zeal,  and  withheld  by  pangs  of  contrition ; 
Slowly  but  steadily  onward,  receding  yet  ever  advancing, 
Journeyed  this  Puritan  youth  to  the  Holy  Land  of  his  longings, 
Urged  by  the  fervor  of  love,  and  withheld  by  remorseful  misgivings. 

110 


THE,    M^RCH    OP 
MII^E/S     STAJSTDISH 


—''""' 


THB 


OP 
STAJXTDISH 


MEANWHILE  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish  was  marching  steadily  northward, 
Winding  through  forest  and  swamp,  and  along  the  trend  of  the  sea-shore, 

'*    —  '    ""'  ^^^x.       \  /  •/ 

All  day  long,  with  hardly  a  halt,  the  fire  of  his  anger 
Burning  and  crackling  within,  and  the  sulphurous  odor  of  powder 
Seeming  more  sweet  to  his  nostrils  than  all  the  scents  of  the  forest. 
Silent  and  moody  he  went,  and  much  he  revolved  his  discomfort  ; 
He  who  was  used  to  success,  and  to  easy  victories  always, 

115 


THE,    M^P^CH    OP 
MILyE/S     STANDISH 

Thus  to  be  flouted,  rejected,  and  laughed  to  scorn  by  a.  maiden, 

Thus  to  be  mocked  and  betrayed  by  the  friend  whom  most  he  had  trusted ! 

Ah !  'twas  too  much  to  be  borne,  and  he  fretted  and  chafed  in  his  armor ! 

"I  alone  am  to  blame,"  he  muttered,  "for  mine  was  the  folly. 
What  has  a  rough  old  soldier,  grown  grim  and  gray  in  the  harness, 
Used  to  the  camp  and  its  ways,  to  do  with  the  wooing  of  maidens  ? 
'Twas  but  a  dream, — let  it  pass, — let  it  vanish  like  so  many  others ! 
What  I  thought  was  a  flower,  is  only  a  weed,  and  is  worthless ; 
Out  of  my  heart  will  I  pluck  it,  and  throw  it  away,  and  henceforward 
Be  but  a  fighter  of  battles,  a  lover  and  wooer  of  dangers !" 
Thus  he  revolved  in  his  mind  his  sorry  defeat  and  discomfort, 
While  he  was  marching  by  day  or  lying  at  night  in  the  forest, 
Looking  up  at  the  trees,  and  the  constellations  beyond  them. 

After  a  three  days'  march  he  came  to  an  Indian  encampment 
Pitched  on  the  edge  of  a  meadow,  between  the  sea  and  the  forest ; 
Women  at  work  by  the  tents,  and  the  warriors,  horrid  with  war-paint, 
Seated  about  a  fire,  and  smoking  and  talking  together ; 
Who,  when  they  saw  from  afar  the  sudden  approach  of  the  white  men, 

116 


1 


THE,    MA.R.CH    OP 
MIL/E/S     STANDISH 


Saw  the  flash  of  the  sun  on  breastplate  and  saber  and  musket, 
Straightway  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  two,  from  among  them  advancing, 
Came  to  parley  with  Standish,  and  offer  him  furs  as  a  present; 
Friendship  was  in  their  looks,  but  in  their  hearts  there  was  hatred. 
Braves  of  the  tribe  were  these,  and  brothers  gigantic  in  stature, 
Huge  as  Goliath  of  Gath,  or  the  terrible  Ogy  king  of  Bashan ; 
One  was  Pecksuot  named,  and  the  other  was  called  Wattawamat. 
Round  their  necks  were  suspended  their  knives  in  scabbards  of  wampum, 
Two-edged,  trenchant  knives,  with  points  as  sharp  as  a  needle. 
Other  arms  had  they  none,  for  they  were  cunning  and  crafty. 
"Welcome,  English !"  they  said, — these  words  they  had  learned  from  the  traders 
Touching  at  times  on  the  coast,  to  barter  and  chaffer  for  peltries. 
Then  in  their  native  tongue  they  began  to  parley  with  Standish, 
Through  his  guide  and  interpreter,  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white  man, 
Begging  for  blankets  and  knives,  but  mostly  for  muskets  and  powder, 
Kept  by  the  white  man,  they  said,  concealed,  with  the  plague,  in  his  cellars, 
Ready  to  be  let  loose,  and  destroy  his  brother,  the  red  man ! 
But  when  Standish  refused,  and  said  he  would  give  them  the  Bible, 
Suddenly  changing  their  tone,  they  began  to  boast  and  to  bluster. 
Then  Wattawamat  advanced  with  a  stride  in  front  of  the  other, 

119 


THE,    MA.R.CH    OP 
MII>E/S     STANDISH 

And,  with  a  lofty  demeanor,  thus  vauntingly  spake  to  the  Captain  : 
"Now  Wattawamat  can  see,  by  the  fiery  eyes  of  the  Captain, 
Angry  is  he  in  his  heart ;  but  the  heart  of  the  brave  Wattawamat 
Is  not  afraid  at  the  sight.     He  was  not  born  of  a  woman, 
But  on  a  mountain,  at  night,  from  an  oak-tree  riven  by  lightning, 
Forth  he  sprang  at  a  bound,  with  all  his  weapons  about  him, 
Shouting,  'Who  is  there  here  to  fight  with  the  brave  Wattawamat  ?' ' 
Then  he  unsheathed  his  knife,  and,  whetting  the  blade  on  his  left  hand* 
Held  it  aloft  and  displayed  a  woman's  face  on  the  handle, 
Saying,  with  bitter  expression  and  look  of  sinister  meaning : 
"I  have  another  at  home,  with  the  face  of  a  man  on  the  handle ; 
By  and  by  they  shall  marry ;  and  there  will  be  plenty  of  children !" 

Then  stood  Pecksuot  forth,  self-vaunting,  insulting  Miles  Standish 
While  with  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  that  hung  at  his  bosom, 
Drawing  it  half  from  its  sheath,  and  plunging  it  back,  as  he  muttered : 
"By  and  by  it  shall  see ;  it  shall  eat ;  ah,  ha !  but  shall  speak  not ! 
This  is  the  mighty  Captair  the  white  men  have  sent  to  destroy  us ! 
He  is  a  little  man ;  let  him  g  3  and  work  with  the  women !" 

120 


THR    M.AP^CH    OP 
MILyE/S     STANDISH 

Meanwhile  Standish  had  noted  the  faces  and  figures  of  Indians 
Peeping  and  creeping  about  from  bush  to  tree  in  the  forest, 
Feigning  to  look  for  game,  with  arrows  set  on  their  bow-strings, 
Drawing  about  him  still  closer  and  closer  the  net  of  their  ambush. 
But  undaunted  he  stood,  and  dissembled  and  treated  them  smoothly ; 
So  the  old  chronicles  say,  that  were  writ  in  the  days  of  the  fathers. 
But  when  he  heard  their  defiance,  the  boast,  the  taunt,  and  the  insult, 
All  the  hot  blood  of  his  race,  of  Sir  Hugh  and  of  Thurston  de  Standish, 
Boiled  and  beat  in  his  heart,  and  swelled  in  the  veins  of  his  temples. 
Headlong  he  leaped  on  the  boaster,  and,  snatching  his  knife  from  its  scabbard, 
Plunged  it  into  his  heart,  and,  reeling  backward,  the  savage 
Fell  with  his  face  to  the  sky,  and  a  fiendlike  fierceness  upon  it. 
Straight  there  arose  from  the  forest  the  awful  sound  of  the  war-whoop, 
And,  like  a  flurry  of  snow  on  the  whistling  wind  of  December, 
Swift  and  sudden  and  keen  came  a  flight  of  feathery  arrows. 
Then  came  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  out  of  the  cloud  came  the  lightning, 
Out  of  the  lightning,  thunder ;  and  death  unseen  ran  before  it. 
Frightened  the  savages  fled  for  shelter  in  swamp  and  in  thicket, 

Hotly  pursued  and  beset;  but  their  sachem,  the  brave  Wattawamat, 

)       -. 

V  ,-*"  *^-^.  -^^ 


THB    MAFLCH    OP 
MIDE/S     STANDISH 

Fled  not ;  he  was  dead.     Unswerving  and  swift  had  a  bulie\, 

Passed  through  his  brain,  and  lie  fell  with  both  hands  clutching  the  greensward 

Seeming  in  death  to  hold  back  from  his  foe  the  land  of  his  fathers. 

There  on  the  flowers  of  the  meadow  the  warriors  lay,  and  above  them, 
Silent,  with  folded  arms,  stood  Hobomok,  friend  of  the  white  man. 
Smiling,  at  length  he  exclaimed  to  the  stalwart  Captain  of  Plymouth : 
"Pecksuot  bragged  very  loud,  of  his  courage,  his  strength,  and  his  stature, — 
Mocked  the  great  Captain,  and  called  him  a  little  man ;  but  I  see  now 
Big  enough  have  you  been  to  lay  him  speechless  before  you !" 

Thus  the  first  battle  was  fought  and  won  by  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish. 
When  the  tidings  thereof  were  brought  to  the  village  of  Plymouth, 
And  as  a  trophy  of  war  the  head  of  the  brave  Wattawamat 
Scowled  from  the  roof  of  the  fort,  which  at  once  was  a  church  and  a  fortress, 
All  who  beheld  it  rejoiced,  and  praised  the  Lord,  and  took  courage. 
Only  Priscilla  averted  her  face  from  this  specter  of  terror, 
Thanking  God  in  her  heart  that  she  had  not  married  Miles  Standish ; 
Shrinking,  fearing  almost,  lest,  coming  home  from  his  battles, 
He  should  lay  claim  to  her  hand,  as  the  prize  and  reward  of  his  valor. 


THE,      SPHSTNING- 
W 


THE,      SPINNING- 
W  H  E,R  L> 

MONTH  after  month  passed  away,  and  in  autumn  the  ships  of  the  merchants 
Came  with  kindred  and  friends,  with  cattle  and  corn  for  the  Pilgrims. 
All  in  the  village  was  peace ;  the  men  were  intent  on  their  labors, 
Busy  with  hewing  and  building,  with  garden-plot  and  with  merestead, 
Busy  with  breaking  the  glebe,  and  mowing  the  grass  in  the  meadows, 
Searching  the  sea  for  its  fish,  and  hunting  the  deer  in  the  forest. 

129 


THE,      SPINNING- 
W  H  E^E,  1^ 

All  in  the  village  was  peace ;  but  at  times  the  rumor  of  warfare 

Filled  the  air  with  alarm,  and  the  apprehension  of  danger. 

Bravely  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish  was  scouring  the  land  with  his  forces, 

Waxing  valiant  in  fight  and  defeating  the  alien  armies, 

Till  his  name  had  become  a  sound  of  fear  to  the  nations. 

Anger  was  still  in  his  heart,  but  at  times  the  remorse  and  contrition 

Which  in  all  noble  natures  succeed  the  passionate  outbreak, 

Came  like  a  rising  tide,  that  encounters  the  rush  of  a  river, 

Staying  its  current  a  while,  but  making  it  bitter  and  brackish. 

Meanwhile  Alden  at  home  had  built  him  a  new  habitation, 
Solid,  substantial,  of  timber  rough-hewn  from  the  firs  of  the  forest. 
Wooden-barred  was  the  door,  and  the  roof  was  covered  with  rushes ; 
Latticed  the  windows  were,  and  the  window-panes  were  of  paper, 
Oiled  to  admit  the  light,  while  wind  and  rain  were  excluded. 
There,  too,  he  dug  a  well,  and  around  it  planted  an  orchard : 
Still  may  be  seen  to  this  day  some  trace  of  the  well  and  the  orchard. 
Close  to  the  house  was  the  stall,  where,  safe  and  secure  from  annoyance, 
Raghorn,  the  snow-white  steer,  that  had  fallen  to  Alden's  allotment 

130 


THE,      SPITSTNING- 
W  H  E,E>  l^ 

In  the  division  of  cattle,  might  ruminate  in  the  night-time 

Over  the  pastures  he  cropped,  made  fragrant  by  sweet  pennyroyal. 

Oft  when  his  labor  was  finished,  with  eager  feet  would  the  dreamer 
Follow  the  pathway  that  ran  through  the  woods  to  the  house  of  Priscilla, 
Led  by  illusions  romantic  and  subtile  deceptions  of  fancy, 
Pleasure  disguised  as  duty,  and  love  in  the  semblance  of  friendship. 
Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  fashioned  the  walls  of  his  dwelling ; 
Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  delved  in  the  soil  of  his  garden ; 
Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  read  in  his  Bible  on  Sunday 
Praise  of  the  virtuous  woman,  as  she  is  described  in  the  Proverbs, — 
How  the  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her  always, 
How  all  the  days  of  her  life  she  will  do  him  good,  and  not  evil, 
How  she  seeketh  the  wool  and  the  flax  and  worketh  with  gladness, 
How  she  layeth  her  hand  to  the  spindle  and  holdeth  the  distaff, 
How  she  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  herself  or  her  household, 
Knowing  her  household  are  clothed  with  the  scarlet  cloth  of  her  weaving ! 

So,  as  she  sat  at  her  wheel  one  afternoon  in  the  autumn, 
Alden,  who  opposite  sat,  and  was  watching  her  dexterous  fingers, 

133 


THE,      SPINNING 
WH  E,E,L> 

As  if  the  thread  she  was  spinning  were  that  of  his  life  and  his  fortune, 
After  a  pause  in  their  talk,  thus  spake  to  the  sound  of  the  spindle. 

"Truly,  Priscilla,"  he  said,  "when  I  see  you  spinning  and  spinning, 
Never  idle  a  moment,  but  thrifty  and  thoughtful  of  others, 
Suddenly  you  are  transformed,  are  visibly  changed  in  a  moment ; 
You  are  no  longer  Priscilla,  but  Bertha,  the  Beautiful  Spinner." 
Here  the  light  foot  on  the  treadle  grew  swifter  and  swifter ;  the  spindle 
Uttered  an  angry  snarl,  and  the  thread  snapped  short  in  her  fingers ; 
While  the  impetuous  speaker,  not  heeding  the  mischief,  continued : 

"You  are  the  beautiful  Bertha,  the  spinner,  the  queen  of  Helvetia ; 
She  whose  story  I  read  at  a  stall  in  the  streets  of  Southampton, 

Who,  as  she  rode  on  her  palfrey,  o'er  valley  and  meadow  and  mountain, 

J 
Ever  was  spinning  her  thread  from  a  distaff  fixed  to  her  saddle. 

She  was  so  thrifty  and  good,  that  her  name  passed  into  a  proverb. 

So  shall  it  be  with  your  own,  when  the  spinning-wheel  shall  no  longer 

)      /'  ^    s>' 

Hum  in  the  house  of  the  farmer,  and  fill  its  chambers  with  music. 

Then  shall  the  mothers,  reproving,  relate  how  it  was  in  their  childhood, 
Praising  the  good  old  times,  and  the  days  of  Priscilla,  the  spinner !" 
Straight  uprose  from  her  wheel  the  beautiful  Puritan  maiden, 
Pleased  with  the  praise  of  her  thrift  from  him  whose  praise  was  the  sweetest, 


,.      kj 


THE,      SPINNING- 
W  H  E^E>  L, 

Drew  from  the  reel  on  the  table  a  snowy  skein  of  her  spinning, 
Thus  making  answer,  meanwhile,  to  the  flattering  phrases  of  Alden : 
'Come,  you  must  not  be  idle ;  if  I  am  a  pattern  for  housewives, 
Show  yourself  equally  worthy  of  being  the  model  of  husbands. 
Hold  this  skein  on  your  hands,  while  I  wind  it,  ready  for  knitting ; 
Then  who  knows  but  hereafter,  when  fashions  have  changed  and  the  manners, 
Fathers  may  talk  to  their  sons  of  the  good  old  times  of  John  Alden !" 
Thus,  with  a  jest  and  a  laugh,  the  skein  on  his  hands  she  adjusted, 
He  sitting  awkwardly  there,  with  his  arms  extended  before  him, 
She  standing  graceful,  erect,  and  winding  the  thread  from  his  fingers, 
Sometimes  chiding  a  little  his  clumsy  manner  of  holding, 
Sometimes  touching  his  hands,  as  she  disentangled  expertly 
Twist  or  knot  in  the  yarn,  unawares — for  how  could  she  help  it  ? — 
Sending  electrical  thrills  through  every  nerve  in  his  body. 

Lo !  in  the  midst  of  this  scene,  a  breathless  messenger  entered, 
Bringing  in  hurry  and  heat  the  terrible  news  from  the  village. 
Yes ;  Miles  Standish  was  dead ! — an  Indian  had  brought  them  the  tidings, — 
Slain  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  shot  down  in  the  front  of  the  battle, 
Into  an  ambush  beguiled,  cut  off  with  the  whole  of  his  forces ; 
All  the  town  would  be  burned,  and  all  the  people  be  murdered ! 

137 


THE,      SPTNNING- 
W  H  E^E,  L 

Such  were  the  tidings  of  evil  that  burst  on  the  hearts  of  the  hearers. 
Silent  and  statue-like  stood  Priscilla,  her  face  looking  backward 
Still  at  the  face  of  the  speaker,  her  arms  uplifted  in  horror ; 
But  John  Alden,  upstarting,  as  if  the  barb  of  the  arrow 
Piercing  the  heart  of  his  friend  had  struck  his  own,  and  had  sundered 
Once  and  for  ever  the  bonds  that  held  him  bound  as  a  captive, 
Wild  with  excess  of  sensation,  the  awful  delight  of  his  freedom, 
Mingled  with  pain  and  regret,  unconscious  of  what  he  was  doing, 
Clasped,  almost  with  a  groan,  the  motionless  form  of  Priscilla, 
Pressing  her  close  to  his  heart,  as  for  ever  his  own,  and  exclaiming : 
"Those  whom  the  Lord  hath  united,  let  no  man  put  them  asunder !" 

Even  as  rivulets  twain,  from  distant  and  separate  sources, 
Seeing  each  other  afar,  as  they  leap  from  the  rocks,  and  pursuing 
Each  one  its  devious  path,  but  drawing  nearer  and  nearer, 
Rush  together  at  last,  at  their  trysting-place  in  the  forest ; 
So  these  lives  that  had  run  thus  far  in  separate  channels, 
Coming  in  sight  of  each  other,  then  swerving  and  flowing  asunder, 
Parted  by  barriers  strong,  but  drawing  nearer  and  nearer, 
Rushed  together  at  last,  and  one  was  lost  in  the  other. 

133 


THE, 


FOBTH  from  the  curtain  of  clouds,  from  the  tent  of  purple  and  scarlet, 
Issued  the  sun,  the  great  High  Priest,  in  his  garments  resplendent, 
Holiness  unto  the  Lord,  in  letters  of  light,  on  his  forehead, 
Round  the  hem  of  his  robe  the  golden  bells  and  pomegranates. 
Blessing  the  world  he  came,  and  the  bars  of  vapor  beneath  him 
Gleamed  like  a  grate  of  brass,  and  the  sea  at  his  feet  was  a  laver  ! 

143 


THE,  W  BIDDING- 

This  was  the  wedding  morn  of  Priscilla,  the  Puritan  maiden. 
Friends  were  assembled  together ;  the  Elder  and  Magistrate  also 
Graced  the  scene  with  their  presence,  and  stood  like  the  Law  and  the  Gospel, 
One  with  the  sanction  of  earth  and  one  with  the  blessing  of  heaven. 
Simple  and  brief  was  the  wedding,  as  that  of  Ruth  and  of  Boaz. 
Softly  the  youth  and  the  maiden  repeated  the  words  of  betrothal, 
Taking  each  other  for  husband  and  wife  in  the  Magistrate's  presence, 
After  the  Puritan  way,  and  the  laudable  custom  of  Holland. 
Fervently  then,  and  devoutly,  the  excellent  Elder  of  Plymouth 
Prayed  for  the  hearth  and  the  home,  that  were  founded  that  day  in  affection, 
Speaking  of  life  and  of  death,  and  imploring  divine  benedictions. 

Lo !  when  the  service  was  ended,  a  form  appeared  on  the  threshold, 
Clad  in  armor  of  steel,  a  somber  and  sorrowful  figure ! 
Why  does  the  bridegroom  start  and  stare  at  the  strange  apparition  ? 
Why  does  the  bride  turn  pale,  and  hide  her  face  on  his  shoulder  ? 
Is  it  a  phantom  of  air, — a  bodiless,  spectral  illusion  ? 
Is  it  a  ghost  from  the  grave,  that  has  come  to  forbid  the  betrothal? 
Long  had  it  stood  there  unseen,  a  guest  uninvited,  unwelcomed ; 

// 

144 


st\  rt'.a.- 


THE>  WADDING-  D /^v  V 

Over  its  clouded  eyes  there  had  passed  at  times  an  expression 
Softening  the  gloom  and  revealing  the  warm  heart  hidden  beneath  them, 
As  when  across  the  sky  the  driving  rack  of  the  rain-cloud 
Grows  for  a  moment  thin,  and  betrays  the  sun  by  its  brightness. 
Once  it  had  lifted  its  hand,  and  moved  its  lips,  but  was  silent, 
As  if  an  iron  will  had  mastered  the  fleeting  intention. 
But  when  were  ended  the  troth  and  the  prayer  and  the  last  benediction, 
Into  the  room  it  strode,  and  the  people  beheld  with  amazement 
Bodily  there  in  his  armor  Miles  Standish,  the  Captain  of  Plymouth ! 
Grasping  the  bridegroom's  hand,  he  said  with  emotion,  "Forgive  me ! 
I  have  been  angry  and  hurt, — too  long  have  I  cherished  the  feeling ; 
I  have  been  cruel  and  hard,  but  now,  thank  God !  it  is  ended. 
Mine  is  the  same  hot  blood  that  leaped  in  the  veins  of  Hugh  Standish, 
Sensitive,  swift  to  resent,  but  as  swift  in  atoning  for  error. 
Never  so  much  as  now  was  Miles  Standish  the  friend  of  John  Alden." 
Thereupon  answered  the  bridegroom :    "Let  all  be  forgotten  between  us,- 
All  save  the  dear,  old  friendship,  and  that  shall  grow  older  and  dearer !" 
Then  the  Captain  advanced,  and,  bowing,  saluted  Priscilla, 
Gravely,  and  after  the  manner  of  old-fashioned  gentry  in  England, 

147 


THE,  WADDING-  DA.Y 

Something  of  camp  and  of  court,  of  town  and  of  country,  commingled, 
Wishing  her  joy  of  her  wedding,  and  loudly  lauding  her  husband. 
Then  he  said  with  a  smile :    "I  should  have  remembered  the  adage, — 
If  you  would  be  well  served,  you  must  serve  yourself ;  and  moreover, 
No  man  can  gather  cherries  in  Kent  at  the  season  of  Christmas !" 

Great  was  the  people's  amazement,  and  greater  yet  their  rejoicing, 
Thus  to  behold  once  more  the  sun-burnt  face  of  their  Captain, 
Whom  they  had  mourned  as  dead ;  and  they  gathered  and  crowded  about  him, 
Eager  to  see  him  and  hear  him,  forgetful  of  bride  and  of  bridegroom, 
Questioning,  answering,  laughing,  and  each  interrupting  the  other, 
Till  the  good  Captain  declared,  being  quite  overpowered  and  bewildered, 
He  had  rather  by  far  break  into  an  Indian  encampment, 
Than  come  again  to  a  wedding  to  which  he  had  not  been  invited. 

Meanwhile  the  bridegroom  went  forth  and  stood  with  the  bride  at  the  doorway, 
Breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  that  warm  and  beautiful  morning. 

148 


THE,  WADDING-  D  ^  V 

Touched  with  autumnal  tints,  but  lonely  and  sad  in  the  sunshine, 

Lay  extended  before  them  the  land  of  toil  and  privation ; 

There  were  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and  the  barren  waste  of  the  sea-shore, 

There  the  familiar  fields,  the  groves  of  pine,  and  the  meadows ; 

But  to  their  eyes  transfigured,  it  seemed  as  the  Garden  of  Eden, 

Filled  with  the  presence  of  God,  whose  voice  was  the  sound  of  the  ocean. 

Soon  was  their  vision  disturbed  by  the  noise  and  stir  of  departure, 
Friends  coming  forth  from  the  house,  and  impatient  of  longer  delaying, 
Each  with  his  plan  for  the  day,  and  the  work  that  was  left  uncompleted. 
Then  from  a  stall  near  at  hand,  amid  exclamations  of  wonder, 
Alden  the  thoughtful,  the  careful,  so  happy,  so  proud  of  Priscilla, 
Brought  out  his  snow-white  steer,  obeying  the  hand  of  its  master, 
Led  by  a  cord  that  was  tied  to  an  iron  ring  in  its  nostrils, 
Covered  with  crimson  cloth,  and  a  cushion  placed  for  a  saddle. 
She  should  not  walk,  he  said,  through  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  noonday ; 
Nay,  she  should  ride  like  a  queen,  not  plod  along  like  a  peasant. 
Somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  but  reassured  by  the  others, 
Placing  her  hand  on  the  cushion,  her  foot  in  the  hand  of  her  husband, 

151 


THE,  WADDING-  D /^  V 

Gaily,  with  joyous  laugh,  Priscilla  mounted  her  palfrey. 
''Nothing  is  wanting  now,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "but  the  distaff; 
Then  you  would  be  in  truth  my  queen,  my  beautiful  Bertha !" 

Onward  the  bridal  procession  now  moved  to  their  new  habitation, 
Happy  husband  and  wife,  and  friends  conversing  together. 
Pleasantly  murmured  the  brook,  as  they  crossed  the  ford  in  the  forest, 
Pleased  with  the  image  that  passed,  like  a  dream  of  love  through  its  bosom, 
Tremulous,  floating  in  air,  o'er  the  depths  of  the  azure  abysses. 
Down  through  the  golden  leaves  the  sun  was  pouring  his  splendors, 
Gleaming  on  purple  grapes,  that,  from  branches  above  them  suspended, 
Mingled  their  odorous  breath  with  the  balm  of  the  pine  and  the  fir-tree, 
Wild  and  sweet  as  the  clusters  that  grew  in  the  valley  of  Eshcol. 
Like  a  picture  it  seemed  of  the  primitive,  pastoral  ages, 
Fresh  with  the  youth  of  the  world,  and  recalling  Rebecca  and  Isaac, 
Old  and  yet  ever  new,  and  simple  and  beautiful  always, 
Love  immortal  and  young  in  the  endless  succession  of  lovers. 
So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  passed  onward  the  bridal  procession. 

152 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


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DD20  12M   1-05 


Longfellow,  H.W. 

The  courtship  of 
Miles  Standish. 


PS2262 

Al 

1903 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


